


So This Is How The Story Ends

by Notmarysue



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Denial, Heavy Angst, Honestly just all angst, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Owen is a bloody idiot, Regret, There is no comfort here, Torture Tango (Spies Are Forever), chimera
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:54:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28555689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notmarysue/pseuds/Notmarysue
Summary: For four years, Owen has dreamed of enacting his revenge. Now he's starting to wonder if he's really getting what he wanted. Unfortunately, his realisation comes far too late.
Relationships: Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega
Comments: 12
Kudos: 40





	So This Is How The Story Ends

**Author's Note:**

> You know the rules. If I have an idea that causes me to suffer, you have to suffer with me.
> 
> Title taken from Torture Tango (just you all knew that already)

Curt Mega was never supposed to die.

For four years Owen had dreamed of his revenge. He had imagined every harsh word and cutting remark in fine detail, planning and perfecting the scene in his head, making sure Curt felt every ounce of pain he had. But his mind always cut off before the finale. The daydream just looped back round to the beginning, brushing over its logical conclusion. Now here he was, finally facing the moment he’d been waiting for. Stood in a blood covered hotel room, still tired and masked, with a bruised, unmoving Curt in the chair in front of him and only one thought racing through his mind.

He wasn’t supposed to actually die.

He shook his head. No, Curt wasn’t _dead._ He couldn’t be. That wasn’t how the story went. As long as there was an Owen Cavour there was a Curt Mega. That was the way the world was supposed be. Surely, he was just unconscious. It had been four years since he was last in the field. It would be foolish to presume he could roll with the punches like he used to.

“Come on, Mega. I know you’re stronger than that.” Owen barked as he threw his metal chain aside. He kept one eye on Curt at all times, waiting for a sarcastic quip or a cheesy one liner, the kind he always fought himself not to groan at. He got nothing. He furrowed his brow. Just a noise or a movement would do.

Perhaps he was just pretending. It wouldn’t be the first time Curt had played dead to escape. He’d done it a few times while Owen had been forced into the role of the enemy and it had terrified the brit every single time. Sometimes, especially near the end, Owen was convinced Curt knew exactly what was going and did it just to scare him. Maybe that’s what he was trying to do now. Scare him. Get his own little dig in there. It would be foolish to think a man like Mega could ever change.

“It’s no fun for me when you’re just sitting there, you know?” He scowled. He slapped his open palm of his hand across Curt’s face, leaving a red mark on his cheek. A small groan escaped Curt’s lips, the hit barely registering in his slumber. Owen sighed. A wave of relief washed over him. He huffed and pushed it down. He hadn’t loved about Curt for so long. Why should he care now?

Owen threw himself down on the bed and sat slumped, facing the floor. He always hated hotel beds. The sheets were far too tight, the mattresses were far too hard. Hotel rooms in general put him on edge. The thin carpets, the identical corridors, the décor that seemed to be the same all over the world. There was just something uncanny about it all. Curt, on the other hand, had loved them. Hotel rooms had been their space.

“They’re a special kind of weird.” Curt would smile. “Just like us.”

Owen clenched his fists and tried to push the memories from his mind. That stupid smile and the same little saying every single time. If it had been anyone else it would have destroyed his nerves, but Curt was far from ‘anyone else’. His enthusiasm had been infectious.

He ripped off his mask, forgetting to take the care he usually took to remove it cleanly. He hated working in it. It was stifling. He’d never had so much trouble catching his breath in it before though. He ran his hand through his untamed hair and wiped the sweat from his forehead. It was moments like these that made him wish he’d paid far more attention to Chimera’s focus techniques. He found himself just sitting there, his head in his hands. His chest was tight, and his limbs were heavy. He felt like he was choking.

Eventually, he managed to lift his head just enough to train his eyes back on Curt. He’d barely taken a second to look at his face. It was strange how someone could look so different and yet exactly the same. Curt’s skin had turned pale, nearly grey. Beads of sweat rolled down his face. Owen watched his chest struggle to rise and full inconsistently, every breath seeming like a fight. A single thought filled Owen’s mind, near deafening him as it echoed through his head.

**_What the Hell am I doing?_ **

He was moving before he even realised it, almost running towards Curt. He crouched down and reached behind the chair to untie Curt’s hands as fast he could, before placing his own hands firmly on Curt’s upper arms to stop him from falling forward. Curt grumbled at the unexpected movement. Owen gently brushed Curt’s wet hair out of his eyes, trying to move into something resembling his old style. Was it longer than when they last met? It was like he’d barely had it cut at all. He supposed that both let themselves go, though in wildly different ways.

“Curt? Curt, can you hear me?” Owen asked quietly.

“Hmm.” Curt mumbled.

“Curt, you can get through this. I’ve seen you live through so much worse.” The words trembled as they stuck in his throat.

“Curt.” He gently shook him, trying desperately to gain a response. His heart thumped against his ribs as tears started to sting his eyes. For four years, he had never cried. All his life, people had told him that it was unmanly. The only person who ever told otherwise was Curt. So, through everything, through the pain and the abandonment and all the anger, he hadn’t shed a single tear. Now he couldn’t stop them from coming. Now, back in the presence of Curt, the only man he’d ever cried in front of.

Curt’s eyes fluttered open. He struggled to lift his head and focus on Owen.

“Owen?” Curt grumbled.

“Yeah.” Owen nodded through his silent sobs. He gulped and took a breath, calming himself just enough to talk clearly. “Yeah, I’m here.”

He ran his hand through Curt’s hair. Playing with the long, messy strands had always brought him comfort. He’d expected him to be more surprised. It wasn’t everyday a man came back from the dead. But Owen knew what was happening, however much he wanted to deny it. He’d watched it happen hundreds of times with hundreds of men. Curt could see him yes, but he had no idea where he was or what was really happening. It was amazing what lies a dying mind could create. Owen could only wonder what kind of pretty little dream world Curt was lost in now.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” Curt asked.

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.” Owen lied through a forced smiled. He knew his eyes gave him away though. Stupid tears.

“Hey, don’t cry.” Curt smiled warmly. He reached his arm up and gently wiped Owen’s tears away, before softly resting one of his hands in Owen’s and the other on Owen’s cheek. “You just had a nightmare. That’s all.”

“Curt-“

“Shh, just go back to sleep.” He mumbled, lying back in the chair and letting his heavy eyes fall shut. Owen moved his hands back to Curt’s arms, holding on tighter than ever before. As long as they were close, he could pull Curt back from the brink. As long as he held on, surely somehow, he could rectify his mistake. “We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

Owen watched as Curt realised a deep, shaky sigh. When his chest finally fell, it didn’t rise again. His hands fell away and his shoulders slumped down, feeling loose and lifeless to the touch. His pained, daydream smile dropped, sinking into a permanently neutral expression, forever unreadable.

“Come on, sweetheart, wake up.” He begged through gritted teeth, vigorously shaking him in the hope that the shock would somehow pull him back. He let his gaze sink back to the ground. His hands fell into Curt’s. He gently squeezed them, fighting back lost memories of the warmth they once provided. An involuntary smile crossed his lips as he spotted the American’s shoes. He gave a small laugh that quickly dissolved into sobs. Curt was still wearing those same black ones. He never lost his sense for style.

He wasn’t sure how long he crouched there, eyes to the grounds, letting tears silently tumble to the floor. It could have been minutes; it could have been hours. There was no way to be sure. Eventually, the creak of a loose floorboard snapped him out of his trance. He whipped his head around, instinctively defensive. He caught the eyes of Tatiana, who stood starring at him, clutching a bottle of liquor.

“Come to toast our success, love?” He asked, slipping into the fake accent he’d been forced to claim as his own. He shook his head and let the accent drop. What need did he have for a disguise when the only person who truly knew him was gone. “Pour me a strong one. I’m drinking for two.”

“He’s dead then?” It was barely even a question.

“I did as I was ordered.” He nodded.

“You didn’t have to-“

“Didn’t have to what?” Owen snapped. Tatiana scowled and let the thought go. They both knew it didn’t matter how the sentence ended. The meaning would always be the same. He didn’t have to. Owen sighed and looked away. He rested his hand on Curt’s knee for a moment before getting to his feet.

“Get rid of him.” Owen muttered, refusing to make eye contact as he headed towards the door.

“And how do you expect me to do that? In case you haven’t noticed, there’s still a busy casino downstairs. The fact nobody has heard us is a miracle.”

“You’re a smart woman, Tatiana. Figure it out.” He huffed. ‘A miracle’. What a funny kind of miracle it was. Just like surviving the Russian weapons facility had been a miracle. He was starting to get sick of them.

“What happens now?” Tatiana asked. Owen stopped in the doorframe, resting a coarse hand on the wood. He turned his head slightly, seeing Curt’s bruised and beaten corpse, before quickly averting his guess. Sickening guilt rose from his stomach into his chest, threatening to overwhelm him as he stood. He swallowed it. Weakness would do none of them any good.

All his emotions flowed and combined into something more familiar. Something he could understand. Anger. Anger at every step that had brought them there. No, this wasn’t his fault. It _couldn’t_ be his fault. There had to be someone else he could pin it on, someone to take away his regret and bare the burden of his remorse. It didn’t take long for his mind to fall on a culprit. All these years he’d blamed Curt for his pain. A reckless man like him should never have been given power over anything. But who had put him in that position? In the end, Curt had simply been a beautiful idiot who wanted to make a difference. It was the bureaucratic world of agencies and organisations that took that misguided sense of justice and naivety from men like him and moulded it into a weapon, one that inevitably destroyed everything it came into contact with, until it was eventually turned on them. Without them, Curt would still be alive. In a world without spies and secrets there was nothing to hide and nothing to die for. In a world where Chimera ruled, good men like Curt lived normal lives. His quest had always been for vengeance, but the motive had changed. The rise of Chimera was needed now more than ever, of that he was finally sure.

“This changes nothing.”


End file.
